Restoration (22 page)

  "I knew it!" Barnabas shouted, absurdly elated that he'd been proven right.

  "Shut up Barnabas," Jonah said, clouting him around the head.

  "Ow!" Barnabas flinched, "how did you…?" Jonah clouted him again. "Ow!"

  "Business as usual down here for a blind man," Jonah replied. "I just followed the noise of your flapping mouth."

  "I'll be okay," Hawkins said, "I've had worse…"

  "We need light," Maggie replied, "with light I can rig you up a sling."

  Hawkins prised the matches from his pocket with his good hand and rattled them so that she knew where to grab them. "We'll soon run out unless we can find something to burn."

  "I have a headscarf that I'm happy to lose," said Maggie, "if we could find something to wrap it around."

  "That's the tricky thing," admitted Jonah, "if only one of us had a peg leg."

  "Or this?" Hawkins suggested, pulling his retractable telescope out of his jacket pocket. "Your headscarf won't last long though, we need something that would burn slower than that, a section of rope would have done the job."

  "I'll just climb back up and get some shall I?" Ryan asked.

  "How about a dressing?" Barnabas asked sheepishly, aware that his popularity was at an all time low.

  "Dressing?" asked Maggie.

  "From when I burned my arm on the rigging," Barnabas explained.

  "That was weeks ago!" Maggie laughed. "You mean to tell me you're still wearing it?"

  "I kept meaning to take it off…" Barnabas said. "Look, do you want it or not?"

  "His skin's probably grown over it!" said Ryan.

  Barnabas didn't offer the boy a reply, just began to unravel the yellowing bandage. Maggie groped for it in the dark, wrapping both her headscarf and the bandage around the telescope. She didn't mention the smell, Barnabas had suffered enough.

  "It still won't last long," she admitted, "but it's better than nothing." She struck a match and held it to the impromptu torch, lighting up the dark tunnel with an orange glow.

  "Let's get moving quickly," said Hawkins, grimacing as he got to his feet, "who knows how long this pipe goes on for?"

  They sloshed their way forward. Jonah allowing Maggie to lead. Even he had to admit his lack of vision might cause a problem if the pipe were suddenly to bend beneath them.

  It wasn't long before the makeshift torch began to flicker, running out of "fuel" to burn. They took it in turns to sacrifice strips of fabric. Condensing what was left of their provisions into only a couple of the rucksacks, they were able to work hanks of the thick canvas from the now empty spares. Still, they were only too aware that there would come a point that they'd all end up in the dark, buck-naked, as the last few flickers of light ebbed away. They could only hope that they would find their way out of the pipes before that happened.

  "Pipe drops here," said Maggie, holding the torch out into the darkness ahead. "Though I think the drop's gradual enough we might be able to slide down."

  "Now you're talking!" said Ryan, pushing his way to the front. "Water slide!"

  Hawkins could think of many reasons as to why entrusting themselves to the pipes might be fool's business. He also knew they had no option but to ignore them all. "Okay," he shrugged, his broken arm now slung through his shirt so he looked like Napoleon, "one by one we may as well try…"

  "Wahey!" cried Ryan, dropping to the ground and pushing off the edge of the inclined pipe.

  "Will that idiot ever wait for me to finish before jumping in with both feet?" Hawkins wondered.

  "Doubt it, my love," said Maggie, "just like you wouldn't have done when you were his age."

  Hawkins guessed this was true so didn't pursue it.

  They heard Ryan yelp in pain before shouting. "It flattens out again after a while. Nearly broke my arse in half!"

  "Shouldn't be a problem for me then!" said Maggie. "I was born with enough padding to see me through this exact situation." She passed the torch to her husband and went next, a high-pitched
wheeee!
trailing after her as she went.

  "Shout when you're clear," Hawkins called. They heard a surprised grunt and then Maggie called back. "I just landed on Ryan, but once I've fished him out of my drawers he should be fine."

  "Speak for yourself!" they heard the cabin boy shout back. "Thought I was a goner for sure."

  "Okay," Maggie called, "we're clear!"

  Barnabas insisted on going next. "No way I'm waiting to be last," he said, "nothing bad ever happens to the one in the middle."

  Hawkins rolled his eyes as the miserable sod vanished into the dark.

  "You'd better go next," he said to Jonah.

  "Nah, Cap'n," the blind man replied, "I won't be able to resist kicking Barnabas in the arse at the end. You go and take the light with you, not as if I'll need it."

  Hawkins nodded – if only to himself – and lowered himself onto the lip of the pipe. He held the torch high and kicked off, scooting through the pipe. The flame made its irritation clear, flickering and lashing at him like a scolding wife. The shallow trickle of drain water sprayed up around him, he kept his mouth tightly closed, remembering the opiate effect of the liquid. He hit the flat pipe at the bottom with a jolt that yanked his arm and made him yell.

  "You okay Cap'n?" asked Ryan.

  "Fine," Hawkins replied, angry at his own newfound disability, "just hurt my damned arm that's all."

  "All clear?" Jonah shouted.

  "Aye," Hawkins said, letting Ryan take the torch and help him to his feet even though he found himself momentarily infuriated that the boy had thought to offer.

  They moved further down the pipe. Hawkins' trousers clung to him, slick with the seawater, and rubbing between his thighs. This is no way for a ship captain to be, he thought, broken arm and soggy arse, crawling along the sewers like a damned rat.

  Jonah appeared behind them, as devil-may-care as usual. "Could have been worse," he said. "What's next?"

  "Let's find out," said Ryan, dashing ahead with the torch. "Looks like we have a choice," he announced, "the pipe splits both ways."

  "Go left," said Hawkins instantly.

  "Wow," Ryan replied, "how can you tell?"

  "I can't," Hawkins admitted, "so go left, it makes little difference."

  They went left. After a few minutes a clicking noise made Hawkins call a halt. "What the hell is that?" he said. Thinking: Should have gone right… "Jonah?"

  "Couldn't say for sure Cap'n," he replied, "though it sure as hell sounds like…"

  "Crabs!" Ryan shouted. In the flickering light of the torch, a curved pennant of crabs was curving towards them through the pipe. They weren't large, the size of a drink's coaster, little claws waving in the air as if performing a Mexican wave. Ryan began skipping around as they gripped at the hems of his trousers and scuttled up him. "Urgh!" he shouted, beating at himself with the torch.

  "Change of plan, we go right," said Hawkins, "and stop messing about with those things Ryan, you'll burn yourself to a crisp."

  They moved swiftly – Ryan in particular, jumping up and down, convinced that he had crustaceans in his underwear – looping around into the alternative tunnel and hoping the crabs wouldn't follow. They didn't, moving in a militaristic line back the way the crew had come.

  "Anyone else on the menu?" asked Ryan, still tugging at his clothes. "Please tell me I'm not the only one with bits missing?"

  "That's what happens when you're stupid enough to be eager," said Barnabas. "Stick your nose out enough and you'll lose it in the end."

  "Thanks for the inspirational thought," said Hawkins, "you certainly know how to get the best out of a crew."

  The pipe was beginning to get narrower. The thin trickle of seawater beneath their feet also dwindled and then dried out to nothing.

  "The pipe's changing shape too," said Maggie, "losing the curve and getting edges."

  "We're obviously passing into a different area," said Hawkins, "let's just hope there's a way out of here and into somewhere a little more comfortable."

  Soon it was too narrow to walk standing up. "What if this just keeps getting narrower until we can't fit anymore?" asked Barnabas.

  "Then we turn around and go back the other way," said Hawkins. "What else?"

  "I don't mind checking it out," said Ryan. "I could scoot ahead quicker on my own and see if there's a way out?"

  "Be my guest," said Hawkins, knowing full well the kid would go with or without his approval. There was a time, he thought, when I could have sworn this crew did what I told them…

  They gave him the torch and Ryan dropped into a crouch, moving ahead in a bizarre shuffle. After a couple of minutes the going was too tight even for that and he had to drop to his hands and knees. The pipe had well and truly flattened out now, becoming a rectangle rather than a tube. The surface wasn't the heavy ceramic it had been either, it had turned into a rough metal, popping and squealing as he worked his way along it. Ahead he heard a riotous clatter as if someone were having a fit in the darkness ahead, the sides of the vent banging and echoing back to him. Mindful of the crabs earlier he grew nervous. The last thing he wanted was to come face to face with something terrible when he had little way of defending himself bar biting the hell out of it.

  He kept moving anyway, damned if he was going to turn around and go running back just because he'd heard a noise that had scared him.

  Soon he had to drop to his belly and it was impossible to move any other way but slowly and awkwardly, still holding that torch out in front. The heat from its flames was cooking the air in the enclosed space, making his face tingle in the heat. Sooner or later he was going to have to give up on this and work his way back – the thought of doing that was grim, scooting backwards using one hand… it would take him hours and he knew it. Then he heard a noise that pushed him harder: a woman screaming. That proved there was something ahead beyond this damned vent, though whether it would be an improvement was hard to be sure. A little further and he heard another sound, a man's voice… a voice he recognised too, though he would have been lying if he'd said he'd expected to hear it again. He was sure the sound was coming from below and a little further ahead, it had none of the echo he would expect were they stuck here in the vent with him, they must be on the outside. A little further and he realised that there was light creeping in. He moved faster and faster, bashing his head and knees over and over again in his enthusiasm to reach the light. The sound of voices continued below him as he reached the hole in the vent and lowered his head into the bright light of the station. And there he was, the owner of that voice…

  "Avast ye!" Ryan shouted with a grin, "Alan ahoy!"

 

 

Alan and Penelope constructed a pyramid out of the tables. Starting with a base of six, then four, then two… it was just about high enough – and solid enough – for Ryan to climb out and get down. While they worked, the boy shuffled back until he was close enough to the rest of his party to shout and be heard. This wasn't difficult, Ryan had never been a quiet lad. The rest of the
Intrepid
crew made their way along the vent and dropped down into the champagne bar.

  "Who would have thought I'd clap eyes on you again?" said Hawkins, patting Alan on the back. "Where's Sophie?"

  "She's okay," Alan replied. "I think so anyway… look, there's a hell of a lot to explain to you so why don't we get out of here?" he gestured to the dead pigeons that still littered the floor. "Find somewhere a bit more comfortable to catch up?"

  At which point, all the information stands buzzed into life, the face of the Grumpy Controller appearing across the whole upper level. "Sophie needs to go to the library now!" he shouted before promptly switching off.

  "Or perhaps we could talk on the way?" said Penelope.

 
 
 

 

Lying on his back, his old bones just as stiff as the sea-lacquered belly of the boat, Ashe dreamed of blue skies and calm waves. If dreams had weight the storm above him should have whimpered into silence, the rain dried out and the wind calmed to a soft, warm breeze to dry his soaked body. This did not happen. The sea continued to throw him from side to side. A child tossing a baseball from one hand to another, practicing his catch. His head was bleeding. Even in the rain he could tell that the warm wetness that pooled around the nape of his neck had come from within rather than without. He tried to remember what had happened, to own the memory of being cast off the
Intrepid
to float toward shore. It felt loose and just out of reach. A story he had been told rather than something he had experienced. His head felt as if it were speared on a rusty nail. A sharp sense of pain at the heart of a wider numb malaise. The storm, he thought, did I hit my head in the storm?

  That storm continued in affirmation, even as he slipped out of understanding and towards sleep.

 

 

He had left Tibet with a dry taste in his mouth and a sickness in his belly. Returning to the station he had meant to check on Sophie, knock a few of the more unsavoury thoughts away with a little human company. He thought a few hours with Penelope might just do the trick. It was hard to become too self-reflective in her company. They weren't there. He had walked both levels of the station, mindlessly pushing through the ghostly passengers as they moved between shops. They were already on their way to the library then. He sat down in the cafe, feeling utterly exhausted. He had barely started and he was almost at his wits end.